6 Days of Eman
by Tears of Mercury
Summary: Six different oneshots, all oozing with some form of Eman. For DB's 6 Days of Eman. Please r
1. Day 1: At a Glance

**A/N:** Hey, guys. For all of my _Collide_ readers, no I have not abandoned you! I am, however, trying to do NaNoWriMo a month and a half late (I hit the 15,000 word mark today, my sixth day, so I'm pretty freaking happy), so all of my fanfics are on an extremely brief hiatus until the middle of January, when this hell will be over. The DB Eman thread is doing a "6 Days of Eman," and although they're currently on the fourth day and I'm only on the first, I'm trying to catch up. I'm putting all of my fics into a six-chapter "story." Each day has a theme, and I'll be sure to explain every one-shot in a brief author's note. This one-shot is about their first meeting, and their thoughts on it. I hope you all enjoy!

What was Mr. Simpson talking about? Emma wasn't sure, really. Even though she lived and breathed for school, for any opportunity to learn something new, she'd shied away from computers ever since _it_ had happened. She'd also started going home and staying tucked away in her room as soon as school was out and listening to her friends' advice. All of the things that had contributed to her huge mistake were cut out of her life, the forefront of which was romance. If she was honest with herself, she knew that Toby had the smallest of crushes on her. And it wasn't that she didn't like him or that he wasn't nice to her; he was honest and smart and a whole lot more sensitive than JT, and plenty more (a lot of times too much more). Right now Emma just couldn't picture holding someone's hand, talking about things like she had with Jordan. Because if there was one thing that she'd learned from her combined experiences with Jordan, JT, Toby, and her own long gone father, it was that the only that the only times boys said something that took emotion to get out, it was only them echoing back her own feelings because they wanted something from her. Something she wasn't willing to give.

The door thudded closed softly, and Mr. Simpson's voice took on that enthusiastic, welcoming feel it had had the first day of school. He uttered a name, Sean, maybe, and her interest was suddenly piqued. Their class was fairly small, and she was surprised that they hadn't been told about a new student coming in. She rearranged her notebook until it was a neat, straight square in the middle of her desk before glancing up. Something strange ran up her spine.

As she looked at him, suddenly the nightmare of a few months ago that she'd been thinking about and the spiral bound stack of loose leaf paper she'd been obsessing over just a moment before didn't seem nearly as important. The only tangible thing that she could wrap her head around was the poorly hidden sadness in his eyes. He looked tired, she thought; so tired that it was as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. For all she knew, it might. Emma realized that she wanted nothing more than to ask him what that felt like, as well as a million other things. Was it hard coming into a new school filled with strangers after the year had already started? Did that denim jacket stretched across his back and arms wear as comfortably as it appeared to? And most of all, she wondered, why was he so sad? What was so hopeless about life that he couldn't be bothered with keeping his head above his crossed arms while it went on around him?

Homeroom ended quickly, and as she picked up her books she turned her head to catch one last look at him, hoping he wouldn't see her and how fascinated by him she was. The blue of his eyes met hers, though, and if eyes could shrug, she was sure that that was exactly what his were doing. 'Why do you care?' they seemed to say. 'This is nothing new for me. Just ignore me and let me sit here moping by myself.' That was it, she realized. The reason she gravitated toward him like he was magnetic was because they were both trying to hide from something. She hid behind movie nights with her mom and hushed gossip fests with Manny in the hallways; he hid behind the very thing that made him look so defeated. Emma had always been a perceptive person, which was part of the reason that she'd been so lucky with her choice of friends and so unwilling to believe she could have been stupid about Jordan. Seeing someone whose pain both mirrored and contradicted hers raised questions in her mind. At the forefront of it all, she wondered if maybe they could help each other; if he could make her stop pretending to be fine to appease her friends and her mom, if she could wipe that miserable grimace off his face and get him to smile. It was silly and stupid, she knew, and she hated that her mind had already decided that they could be good friends (or something more) simply because he came into class with a bad attitude that she was sure must only be a façade. After all, Emma Nelson had always tried to look for the best in people; and with Sean, she had a feeling it wouldn't be all that hard.

-0-0-0-

The classroom was warmer than it had been last year. Sean knew that he would probably have to shed his jacket by the second hour of the school day, but he didn't bother taking it off as he surveyed his new classmates and then slinked over to the only unoccupied desk in the classroom. It was crazy that out of all the things that had changed in the past six months (Spinner Mason's hairdo, for starters), the only one that he could focus on was that Mr. Raditch had finally relaxed his tightfisted grip on the school's annual budget enough to get professionals to come in and check the central heating.

He felt a pair of eyes on him, and when he opened one of his own just enough to peek out at the person in question, he caught sight of a pair of huge brown eyes that immediately snapped back to the front of the room, the face they belonged to getting hit with the slightest shade of pink. She thought that he hadn't caught her looking. The realization brought the corner of Sean's mouth up in amusement. The girls he'd known back in Wasaga had been thirteen going on twenty-three, all short skirts and blouses that left almost nothing to the imagination. Even the girls he'd met at Degrassi last year had known how to play the dating game, holding eye contact a minute longer than necessary and saying things filled with double meanings, faces inviting and flirtatious. There was none of that in her, though; this girl, whoever she was, was innocent to the bone.

Maybe not completely innocent, he decided a few moments later, when he caught sight of the blankness in her gaze as she fiddled with her notebook for the umpteenth time. Her hair fell into her face and an awkward hand attached to a long, skinny arm reached up to brush it away. There wasn't anything sexy or even blaringly cute about her, but nevertheless Sean kept on sneaking glances at her whenever he wasn't feigning indifference to the whole lesson.

He noticed a lot of things about her during those fifteen minutes. He noticed that while everyone else sat back easily and made jokes during morning announcements, she sat intently at the edge of her seat, pen poised to scribble down anything important (she would be waiting a long time for that). He noticed that the uncomfortable, compulsive movements that he'd found so annoying minutes before became part of her charm if he watched her long ago. Most of all, he noticed that when she inclined her head toward the dark-haired girl sitting beside her and laughed in surprise, she had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

As the bell rang, bringing him out of his reverie, Sean hung back. If he was lucky, he'd have another minute or two before Mr. Simpson hinted less than subtly that he should be well on his way to his next class. Something unexpected happened, though. The girl swung around to face him one last time, and their eyes met. She made him uncomfortable, and he felt like she was asking him a question he wasn't prepared to answer. The longer their staring contest went on, the more convinced he became that she was trying to piece him together like a jigsaw puzzle in her mind, connected the sour expression with the worn clothes with the feelings she was bringing to the surface somehow. It could have only been a minute, but it was more than enough time for him to realize that he was interested. And she, although she had no idea how obvious it was to him, was interested too. It scared him. Everything he touched went bad. If he tried holding her hand he was convinced he would accidentally snap its delicate bones like a pile of twigs; if he talked to her he'd unquestionably say the wrong thing. And once she saw how damaged he really was, she wouldn't want him. No one did.

She should have been gone by the time he made it to the front of the classroom, but instead she was holding the door open. He nodded his thanks and took off down the hall wordlessly. The raven-haired girl that he'd noticed sitting next to her earlier brushed past him, going in the opposite direction. "Emma, why are you all the way back here? Class starts in less than two minutes!" Sean couldn't hear what she said in reply, only her high-pitched, incredibly sweet voice. When he realized that they were heading toward the same classroom, he was glad; he wouldn't mind having more time to stare at her. Not at all.


	2. Day 6: For Now

**A/N:** I wasn't sure how I would feel about this in broad daylight when I wrote this last night, but I find I'm rather fond of it. It's lovely to write something that's all-out fluff once in awhile. This is for day 6, "Holiday," in which I showed you what I think Sean and Emma would celebrate one of this week's big days like. Special thanks to all of my reviewers – I may write for me, but it is so encouraging to get even a line of response from someone. I hope you all enjoy.

It's not something they do often. They know better than to get caught in a compromising position by one of her parents, especially when they're both under the same roof. Emma likes being trusted by her parents, and she's finally gotten used to having their confidence in her back in place. Some nights it's just too much temptation to resist, though. "We really need to talk to my mom about getting a new couch," she giggles, resting her head against his chest. Sean snorts, brushing the bangs away from her face.

"I'm sure Mr. Simpson would appreciate being told by his daughter's deadbeat boyfriend

that they want a more comfortable couch to cuddle on."

"You _are _paying rent, and it's only until your apartment opens up in a few weeks. And, you know, if you assured him that that was _all_ we were doing…" she whispers teasingly. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, kissing her collarbone slightly.

"You should know better than to tempt me by now," he mutters. Even though his voice is lazy and tired, Emma still senses the grain of seriousness in it. They've spent months getting to know each other again, emotionally and physically, and now that they're finally at a good place, a place where they're both ready, circumstances and timing just won't seem to work in their favor. The sensible part of her brain tells her that it's harder for him as a guy. It doesn't stop her from thinking that it's plenty hard for her, too.

Replaying footage of the ball dropping earlier that night in Time's Square distracts Emma for a moment, and when she turns back to Sean she rolls her eyes slightly. "I don't know what the big deal is. We're not even in the U.S., and people are still broadcasting it all over the place at almost four AM as if we didn't see it the first time."

"I don't know, I think it's kind of cool. This is the first year I've ever watched the ball drop," he admits. The faint bluish glow from the TV highlights the surprise in her eyes. "I've had a lot of firsts with you," Sean says, tracing his fingers over her back. In the same way he'd been her first date, her first kiss, and would eventually be her first lover, she'd been his first love. He'd never bothered walking a girlfriend home before her or taken the time to get to know someone's likes and dislikes so completely. He'd never listened to someone who might not view the world the same way he did before she came along. When her lips touch his ever so slightly he responds in kind, kissing her sweetly. They've had their share of heated make out sessions, of stolen kisses beneath the stairs or beside the bathroom that were packed full of the passion they couldn't show anyone else. They enjoy this just as much. Glances heavy with desire, a hand reaching someplace unexpected while kissing; these are things that can be saved for later. This is their silent way of telling each other that there _will_ be a later.

"Jack called you his brother today," Emma says suddenly, laying her head against his chest. It seems important to her that he know this for some reason. "Archie asked me to pick him up from a play date with his friend earlier, and he was bragging about how his big brother Sean played cars with him, and how he could actually make real cars work." Sean squeezes his eyes shut. The more time he spends around Emma's younger brother, the more he toys with the idea of having a son of his own some day; his son, and Emma's son. Maybe he'd have his unruly locks and Emma's warm brown eyes, and he'd be just as hotheaded and opinionated as his mother. Maybe, like Sean, he would be protective of the ones he loved; of a little sister…

Thoughts like these always give Sean the old, familiar twin bursts of hope and fear. Still, he can most certainly say that things are changing for the better. Ever since Emma's admission, "I can't be everything you need me to be all the time," he'd started doing things for himself. The GED had been a start, and it hadn't hurt that it had given him long sessions with a particularly sassy, appealing tutor.

A pamphlet is hidden in the overnight bag stored behind the couch, detailing different business courses at the University of Toronto; once he has some savings and a roof of his own over his head, he's thinking about applying. The job he has at the garage doesn't pay much, but his boss is finally beginning to trust him more. For the first time in his life, Sean isn't self-destructing. Most satisfying of all was the knowledge that while helping, Emma had stepped back after giving him a push in the right direction and had let him decide where he went after jail. He's never felt such a sense of accomplishment.

"I'm glad that you're here with me," he confides. Because they both know by now that love is only enough if you fight for it and that tomorrow is only guaranteed in a perfect world. She readjusts the afghan on top of them, shivering partly from the cold and partly from the feeling of his breath in her ear and his skin against hers.

"I'm not going anywhere," she tells him, and by now it's been proved true enough that Sean knows she's saying it more to herself than for his benefit. "What if we moved in together? After graduation, I mean. You know that I've been planning to stay close to home and start my courses at university for a degree in special education. Dorm rooms are hell and I'm not sure I could take another year at home, and I could pay half of rent and groceries…" He smiles as she goes on, planning for someday, because they both realize that someday is coming up very soon, and when it does they'll be ready for it. But for now, there's always today, doing nothing more than innocent kissing and cuddling in her living room, dreaming about the future and acting as if it's already arrived.

"I love you," Sean says, and he feels her pause for a moment. Neither of them has ever said it out loud before, but they've both known it from the beginning. It should change things, be a terribly intense moment charged with tension and anticipation. But instead she leans down and kisses him slowly, running her hands through his hair.

"I love you too," she replies, as if it's the most natural thing in the world and this is something they say all the time to each other. That is why he knows this is so right. As they lay there he pictures them doing this same thing in five years, after they're married and settled comfortably in a small fixer-upper and expecting their first baby; in twenty years when the kids are safely in bed and there's a rare moment of quiet. But because of the way she looks so beautiful without even trying and the way he knows exactly what her expression is without having to open his eyes, he knows there's no time or place he'd rather be than in this rare, precious moment alone with her. "Happy New Year," she murmurs, turning on her side and pulling his arms around her before settling in to sleep. Her eyelids are already growing heavy, and Emma knows that she could only fall asleep so quickly with him; only feel this secure with him.

"Happy New Year," he says, kissing her neck before turning the TV off with the remote and then settling back into her. Sean smiles, realizing that dealing with Spike and Snake's reactions when they come downstairs this morning might not be the best way to start off a brand new year, but he can't bring himself to care; a year with Emma Nelson in it couldn't be anything but promising.


	3. Day 3: Crossing

**A/N:** This is for the third day, and the theme is "Scars." We were supposed to write about Sean or Emma helping the other through something they weren't shown helping each other with on the show. Somehow, between a surface-deep conversation on the shooting and some reference to Sean's flirtation with alcohol and Emma's just overall depression for the better part of season for, I hope I got the point of the prompt (or at least got my point across). I really picture this as happening during the summer between the fourth and fifth season, so disregard pretty much all episodes from the last two years. I'm still not sure I'm thrilled with this, but I think in its own unpolished, rough way, it works for a Sean narrative. I hope ya'll enjoy.

Shit.

I expect her to go off at me, to tell me what an un-freaking-believably bad idea this was. Instead her hands just close around the bottle in my left hand and scatter the pills in my right across the ground with a gentle nudge. "What are you doing?" she asks me, and those eyes of hers that would look so cold to anyone else hold all the emotion I know she keeps buried inside. I drop the bottle and listen to the satisfactory crash as it hits the metal bars beneath me.

"I was trying to commit suicide until you came along," I reply, my voice relaying boredom that doesn't convince either of us. "What, are you going to take me up as your cause again now? I think it's been at least a year since you've tried that."

"You know that's not true. Slide over," she commands, and before I have a chance to object she's sitting next to me on the train tracks. "So I'm confused. Were you trying to get run over by a train or poison your system with too much medication?" she inquires, and in the back of my mind I'm sure that this is the beginning of a patronizing pep talk or one of her rage-filled rants. It never enters my mind that she could surprise me.

"I took a bottle of the anti-depressants the doctor prescribes to Ellie before I left Wasaga. I've been carrying it around with me for months, and I guess that I figured the only thing more ironic than a hero killing himself was a hero killing himself in the same spot where he'd saved someone else's life."

"So of course you decided to wash your suicide mixture down with booze," Emma comments, shaking her head. "Didn't want to feel pain?" This pisses me off.

"Well at least I don't escape pain by going down on my ex boyfriend's best friend," I shoot back, turning away from her. After coming back to an empty house and an ex who didn't want to by my boyfriend (my anything) anymore, it kind of stung learning that Jay of all people had gotten Emma Nelson to do something like that with him.

"You know what, Sean? Give me all the crap you want, because I'm not sitting here where a locomotive could barrel into and flatten me at any moment to feel good about myself. I'm sitting here because I figure that if you would put yourself in danger to save somebody once, maybe you'll take yourself out of danger to do the same thing," she says in that wise, stubborn way of hers that just makes me want to rip her head off or lean over and kiss her or both.

"I'm not moving, and unless you're strong enough to pull me off, I'd advise you get yourself back home. There are people who actually care about you, you know? Believe me, that doesn't happy to many people," I tell her, feeling incredibly profound and unfortunate as I let this secret leak.

"I care about you," she says in a voice so tiny I almost don't hear it. Tanned, slim legs stretch out over the track and she crosses her ankles, leaning back on the ground underneath her back with her elbows. I don't say anything because there isn't really anything you can say back to that except 'I care about you, too,' and we both know that Sean Cameron doesn't give a damn about anyone. At least, I know; she should too by now. It's awhile before she speaks again. "Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better for everyone if I had died that day instead of Rick. He might be in jail, but he might be in an institution or something, getting the help that he needed. Manny could grieve over losing a friend in some way that made sense, instead of just waking up one day to find your best friend a hollowed-out shell. And you… you wouldn't feel so guilty." I spare a humorless laugh.

"Absolutes like that are fucked up, and you know it. Manny would never have retained those bambi eyes of hers, the bullying Rick would be getting in jail would be ten times worse anything Spinner or Jimmy ever gave him, and I…" I pause for a moment, looking up at the evening sky. Should I say it? Ah, what the hell, I tell myself; as soon as Emma Nelson gets off this damn track I'll be dead anyway. "… I would never have been able to live down not saving you," I confess. Caring about people is a weakness, especially when they're as unpredictable as Emma. But haven't I always been the weak one?"

"Suicide is a pretty absolute thing," Emma argues gently, her hair swaying like a million strands of golden thread as she looks down. "I guess I understand, though. I was saying just a minute ago that I sometimes wish I was dead, after all." This is the type of conversation I would have with Ellie: deep, meaningful. Neither of us judging the other. This is not the type of conversation that one has with innocent, self-righteous Emma Nelson (though that first adjective doesn't really apply anymore, I remind myself with a grimace).

"Do you ever think that some people are just predestined to have a bunch of crap dumped on them?" I question, point blank. It's getting so dark that everything is in a bluish cast, and her eyes, half covered by bangs, look tragically sad. She shrugs a shoulder.

"Your dad is an alcoholic, and your brother wasn't exactly Guardian of the Year material. You had to deal with the shooting. But you also got to be with Ellie for awhile, and you had some good times with JT and Craig and Toby. I think you just kind of get what you get, but there are these little things that shouldn't make much of a difference to balance it out, and if you let them, they do." What is she, a Buddhist now?

"You didn't include yourself on that list of positives," I remark, my ears making out the sound of a train whistle in the distance.

"You never seemed to put me on that list," she says, and if I didn't know any better I'd think she was almost hurt by this fact. It isn't the truth, but I don't tell her that. The train is getting closer, and we can hear the sound of metal grinding against metal. "So what is it going to be?" I want to be mad at her for interrupting my suicide and saving me (just like always), but it's with resignation that I realize that I probably wouldn't have gone through with it anyway. The part of me that would need to be broken beyond repair to do that is in one piece, even if the rest of me isn't. When I stand up and dust off the bottom of my jeans she joins me, and our one step off the track is synchronized.

"Why did you come out this way?" I wonder aloud as we walk away from the quickly approaching iron monster.

"I wanted to visit my dad. It sounds stupid, I know… no trains leave for Stouffville until tomorrow. I just couldn't be in that house a moment longer. Since Manny has a strict curfew and Craig is probably off writing songs somewhere with Ash, it left me without anyone else to go with," she answers, and I know without looking at her face that she's feeling sheepish and awkward and a million other things anyone would be.

"I'll go with you," I say without thinking.

"Okay," she accepts in the same breath. What are we doing? It's the middle of summer, so we aren't required to see each other for another two months. We should both have something better to do, especially since Jay still seems to be interested in both of us for very different reasons.

"I guess it's been a long time coming, huh? Almost two years," I joke, and suddenly tears are blinding my vision.

"Sean?" Her hand is on my arm, and I know that she won't hesitate to hold me if I cry. Because that's exactly what I need right now, I don't hold back the shudder that runs through my shoulders.

"Thank you for giving me my life," I finally manage, pulling away from her despite my instincts.

"Just returning the favor," she says, and I laugh at the small smile on her lips. They're the perfect shape. "So what should we do? Just sit here until morning?"

"Sounds good to me." Her head comes down to rest on my shoulder some time during the night. I don't shift or try to turn away. I just let it be, the two of us; whatever the hell we are. We've never been "just" friends, and somehow I doubt that tomorrow morning I'll have my arm around her waist and she'll be kissing me like she was so afraid to before; not yet, at least. I've learned by now never to completely write off a future between the two of us, because it doesn't seem that we're really over yet. And the way that she can unconsciously settle into me after the evening from hell (or maybe just the twilight zone) gives me hope that we won't ever be.


End file.
